Photographs
by draconislove
Summary: But that's the amazing thing about photographs; they only depict what is on the surface. You would never see all the pain and loathing deep within their hearts, the picture only showed what it was meant to show; happiness. Warning: this contains a lot of triggers, suicide, abuse, attempted rape, and the loss of a child. I have no idea where this twistedness came from...


Disclaimer: harry potter does not belong to me sorry, really wished it did though!

Warning: this contains a lot of triggers, suicide, abuse, attempted rape, and the loss of a child. I have no idea where this twistedness came from but I just got inspired around 2 am and this is what came from it. You have been warned and im sorry if you still read this and it makes you uncomfortable. Otherwise reviews and feedback are appreciated always!

Photograph

Rolling over I could feel the softness of the sheets beneath me, the muscles of the arm surrounding my waist, the movement of air as it past my ear as the body besides me sighed. I opened my eyes to the brightness of the room, waiting for them to adjust from the darkness and heaviness of sleep. I've been in this room before, stared at these white walls, the slight crack to the left where a chair had hit it, the slight red stain on the otherwise spotless carpet where wine had been spilt on a drunken night.

I moved my eyes up towards the clock on the wall that I had never seen tick once. It still read 11: 47 and I assumed that it always would. The plastic over it was cracked from that night, many nights ago. It was never spoken about aloud but always whispered around the corners of the room at social gatherings. The looks from the finely dressed women as they judged me, the refusal to look at me from the sharp dressed men as I passed them by, their silence spoke louder than any scream ever could.

Dislodging the arm I stood from the bed. Grabbing my robe before I exited the bedroom I thought I heard the other occupant speak to me but I paid them no heed, I never do. I walked down the white hallway towards the bathroom, passing pictures and pictures of a happy couple. A happy couple that looked so perfect in each and every way it would make most people sick with the sweetness.

But that's the amazing thing about photographs; they only depict what is on the surface. You would never see all the pain and loathing deep within their hearts, the picture only showed what it was meant to show; happiness. Oh and what a show indeed, for there was no more happiness for the couple, no more sweetness, no more love if there ever were such a thing. All had come to an end with that night, that dark and tragic night.

I turned the light on as I entered the white bathroom. Such a boring color white is, it contains no feelings or imagination. Although for this house I suppose it's the perfect color then, this house with no feelings. Looking in the mirror I see nothing and everything at once. A woman who looked calm with a sedated with no worries at all; but under the pretense you saw a woman with a few bruises here and there popping out from under her shirt and all the self loathing and hate in her eyes.

Opening the medicine cabinet I looked for my morning pills, the ones that would take the numbness away, what the doctors call depression. I wasn't depressed, in order to be depressed one had to feel something, an ability I no longer possessed. Sure I pretended I was happy, that the pills gave me something but in reality the pills gave to everyone else what I dearly wished for; peace of mind. With these pills I could pretend I was a photograph, show everyone what I wanted them to see. A happy young Hermione with no pain, no sadness, no… depression, the happy Hermione I used to be. What I suppose deep down I wished to be again but knew unlike the rest of the fools that I could never be.

Staring at the pills in my hand I thought of that night years ago, the one that damaged not only the house but me as well. The night that stained the carpet and broke the clock, the morning that came to a broken woman and a damaged heart; the night that set with a child in my womb and a morning that rose with a broken heart. The wine Draco drank did not sit well with him that night, if anything it set off his already violent mood. His appetite for sex had risen quite high that night, an appetite I was in no mood to sustain in my present pregnant state and an answer he refused to accept. Throwing me against the bed he was determined to have his way with me while trying to drink from the wine bottle, ending in the wine stain on the carpet. Still I refused which only further fed his anger and incoherent state as he yelled slurred words at me. Seeing my inability to understand drove him father and father into madness, he started pacing or what he thought was pacing but looked rather more like a drunken sailor getting his land legs back. During his pacing he bumped into the wall underneath the clock sending the clock falling on top of his head. Furiously he grabbed the clock screaming and threw it, right into my face. The force of the clock sent me right back over the bed and off the other side of it landing on my side.

I remember listening to my husband yell at me but I still don't remember what was said, or how I ended up back on my feet. All I could focus on was the alcohol on his breath and the shaking of my shoulders as he screamed questions at me. How does one answer a question one cannot understand? You don't. That one little factor, the inability to understand his question finally set him over the edge. Draco and I had our disagreements and arguments before, but he had been a good and patient man, never had he yelled at me or even raised his voice at me let alone hit me. So unprepared was I when his fist flew into my face sending me back onto the floor, in stunned silence I sat there trying to understand what had happened. As I held my face in my hand I fought to hold back the tears that threatened to come to the surface as he continued to yell at me. Then came the real pain.

I fell to my side as the boot came to contact with my stomach, too dizzy from the pain to fully realize what was happening then, let alone what was happening inside me. Again and again I felt the boot make contact with my arms and legs, face and stomach, chest and back. Again and again I heard him screaming words at me that I couldn't comprehend.

And then it stopped.

Looking at myself in the mirror I remember the relief I felt that the pain had stopped, I closed my eyes and fell asleep. In the morning realization came to me quickly as I opened my eyes and remembered what had transpired. I quietly left and left for the doctors to receive the news I already knew. We had lost the baby. The doctor had asked about the bruising to which I had lied and said I had slipped down the stairs. That's when the numbness had begun to set in, although I knew not what it was. The questions we received from friends were always ignored and soon enough they stopped being asked, people I supposed figured out the truth but never outright asked if they were correct. A small blessing in itself I suppose, as well as a curse.

Its now years later and the beatings still continue as well as the yelling, the numbness slips away for a while at this time to which it is nice to be able to feel something even if it is just the pain. My husband is no longer the man I knew, nor I the wife he once loved. I know he finds happiness if not solace in the arms of another, I can smell her sweet perfume on him when he comes to bed and sometimes I see her lipstick on his work shirts as I do our laundry. He no longer wears his ring although I suppose I cant fault him for that since it no longer has any true value of meaning, I am unsure as to why I still wear mine.

Looking at the brightly colored pills in my hand I wonder what it would be like to sleep a while longer instead. What it would be like to sleep for hours instead. What it would be like to sleep forever. Would I have my peace? Would Draco be able to truly find his happiness? Would I be able to see my child I never knew? Pouring my pills back into their container I replaced it in the cabinet as I stared at my husbands pills. The oxytocin he used daily for his knee pain, he wouldn't need them today I think. Today, I think, I need them just a little bit more. Tipping them into my hand I stared at them, 13 of the little pills that helped him so much. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed his whiskey from the white counter, my final thoughts on my child as I drank them down. I hopped they would help me too.

End


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